


Rubicon

by wilderswans



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Pacific Rim Spoilers, Pacific Rim: Uprising Spoilers, Post-Canon, The post-credits scene we deserved, humans have the one thing the aliens weren't counting on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 09:49:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14102781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilderswans/pseuds/wilderswans
Summary: Hermann pays a visit.





	Rubicon

**Author's Note:**

> On the one hand I am gutted by what happened to Newt, on the other, I'm looking forward to Hermann Gottlieb, professional badass, kicking through the Breach and saving the boyfriend he didn't know he had (until it was too late).

“So what is it?”  


Newton looks up, pupils dilating then contracting in the dim cell. Hermann Gottlieb is standing in the entryway, and he is alone.  
“I dunno what you mean, man,” says Newton, and it’s almost enough. The tone is carefully modulated, replicated from memory upon memory that they’ve scoured from him - feigned nonchalance and an echo of the nerves he was never quite able to quell in the presence of this man,  
_this human_.

"It's simple," the human - Gottlieb - says. "Am I talking to Newt?"

“I don’t know what you mean,” Newton’s synapses fire to his vocal chords, pitching the cadence right, vibrations angling for a little more outrage, a little more confusion, a little more -  
_Without him I’m lost, I’m gone, I’m fucked_ , comes a memory from deep inside. They push it down, they drown it in laughter. The collective has ascertained the memory of hyena from the banks of Newton, on some level he is self-conscious that he replicates its laughter.  
  


This human’s thin face draws thinner around the lips. “Is this the Precursors I’m talking to, or is it Newton Geiszler?” The knuckles go white around the head of the cane, the tendons in the neck tense. “ _Where is Newt?_ ”  
  
“I wish I could tell you, man,” says Newton. He blinks, holds the eyelids shut, _tick tick tick_. “Starting to think they’re the same.”  
  


At first it’s quiet, on the periphery of this human’s paltry hearing. “No,” it says as it leans in, then louder, “ _No_.”  
  
  
“I don’t think,” Newton begins, pulling bravado from somewhere within the banks, but the muscle memory is halted by Doctor Gottlieb leaning in on his cane, close enough that they can smell him - the stale human scent of stress hormones and instant coffee and chalk dust. Newton quivers. Somewhere, beneath layers of muscle and brain tissue, Newt fistpumps.  
  


“I will tell you what, you alien bastards,” mutters the human, low and soft beneath his breath, in the way that lit up Newt’s prefrontal cortex with imagination, with longing, before they took him - before they made him better, burning away the pain and the longing and the pitiful shortcomings of the human brain and psyche. “You cannot have him. We’re taking him back. I don’t care how long it takes, you -” His lips grow thinner; he swallows. His pupils glance from Newton’s lips to his eyes, as if they were trying to see past what’s already in his mind, what is already there to say. “You cannot have _him_.”  
  


It’s easier to access Newton’s wellspring of bitterness. It’s harder to say if hatred or longing is the easiest universal to tap into; regardless, Newton’s physiological responses and natural curiosity forged their link better than they could have designed. It is more Newton than the collective that answers. “What do you care?”  
  


Gottlieb’s mouth twists, knuckles white, raw - God! Newt wants to scream - so raw on the cane. “I will get you back,” he murmurs. His gaze is so penetrating they don’t know what to do, scramble for the natural human response, and are perplexed when they cannot look away. “I will tear you away from them myself, if I must,” he says, and turns so quickly to leave the cell it’s as if he suddenly moves without the cane, propelled by sheer fury and the one thing there is no language for, the single fear-worthy thing that they cannot name.


End file.
